


The Snake Eats the Slug, and the Wolf Eats Them Both

by Ranowa



Series: Harry Potter AU [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen, Good Slytherins, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hufflepuff Maes Hughes, Slytherin Roy Mustang, Werewolf Discrimination, Werewolf Maes Hughes, angst that morphed into cheese, not the biggest Slughorn fan and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Their world didn’t allow for werewolves to have potential.





	The Snake Eats the Slug, and the Wolf Eats Them Both

**Author's Note:**

> More of my Harry Potter AU! Thanks to everyone who commented so kindly on Brave at Heart! (leave me alone. I can't title ;-;)
> 
> As seems to be per usual for this AU, I'm writing in basically backwards chronological order. Roy alludes to stuff that happened his first/third/fourth years here and I know full well what it is, but, alas, my unfortunate readers do not. It makes total sense without knowing all the details, of course, but just thought I'd clarify so people aren't left wondering ;) 
> 
> Also!!! This was spurred on by AVMabs posting a wonderful addition to this AU that plays some more with Werewolf Maes! Please check it out, it's GREAT!!! (under my profile under gifts!)
> 
> And now, enjoy! :D

When Roy finally got to their traditional study nook, buried deep in the back of the library, he was already fifteen minutes late, and so fuzzy-minded he’d be of more use as a footrest than a study partner.

Maes, already there and with his feet up on his ragtag stack of notes, a paper airplane spinning lazy circles over his head that seemed only half directed by his wand, didn’t even turn to look at him. He looked as bored and lazy as ever, like it was his life’s purpose to sit there and fly paper airplanes and he’d be content to do so for as long as he lived. Of course, there was no proper hello at Roy’s belated entrance- of course he didn’t even turn away to look at him as he steered the airplane around the room. 

Instead, _of course,_ he cleared his throat as melodramatically as he could, leading the plane in a fanciful loop, and began his speech with all the woe and weeping of a thespian. “I’ve been abandoned… so bereft and lonely… I was promised a meet-up, but my Roy, my one and only, my lovely and foolish _wanker_ , he _left me behind…_ he never came… he never cared… I _never even saw him again…_ no... I was left waiting for him, for the entire rest of my life, waiting for the man who promised me forever- left waiting for so long I might’ve _died…!”_

Roy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and resisted the urge to shoot his paper airplane out of the sky. 

Just like that. Trepidation, gone, and irritation, back. 

“Are you done?”

Maes continued to focus on his acrobatics for a bit, spinning another lazy loop or two, then leaned his head back so far over the back of his chair he almost broke his neck to look at him. “Depends,” Maes said, and beamed. “Were you late because you were busy snogging Riza in the Restricted Section again? Ooooor did you get distracted by the transfer from Beaubaxtons?”

“Busy sn- _again-_ god damn it, shut up, Hughes. As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Scowling, some of his mental distraction finally dispelled, Roy swung around to collapse in the nearest chair, planting his hands on the desk and staring flatly over to the array of books. It was quiet for several seconds, the only sound the continued whistle of Maes’ charmed airplane.

“I got an invite to the Slug Club,” he finally said.

Maes sputtered something, and even with his back turned, Roy heard his airplane crumple in the air, fluttering back down to the floor as utterly forgotten as Maes himself had claimed to be. “Woah, really? _That’s_ why you were late?! Are you serious? That’s great! No, really, that’s _great,_ Roy!” His friend suddenly shot upright, joining him back at the desk with a beaming smile and an elbow nudge to the ribs, beaming as brightly as a lightbulb. “That’s why you were late- you were getting your invite to the future rich and famous! Lemme see, lemme see it!”

Roy numbly let open his hand, allowing Maes to snatch the glittering, official letter away from him. The fanciful calligraphy slipped across the page, small serpents dancing and and emblematic swirls swirling, as official as a Ministry document and as fancy as a letter from the Queen. 

Roy just turned his gaze away, not wanting to see it again.

Here it was. His long sought after invitation to the upper echelons of his class. His emblazoned promise of acceptance and acknowledgement of all he’d spent so hard working for- right there in embossed black and gold. All he’d ever wanted- and an invitation that was supposed to have meant the world to him.

It would’ve, in his first year.

He fidgeted again, scratching his fingers into the desk.

“So, so?” Maes pressed urgently, leaning back over to him. “When’s the first meeting? What’d Slughorn say? How’d you earn your way in there? Come on, Roy, you can’t leave me hanging!’

Roy hesitated. He bit his lip, still frowning over at the now abandoned letter lying on the desk, and for several moments, said nothing.

“He held me back after potions,” he said finally, propping his head up on his hand. “He talked about how impressed he was with me- how much I’d improved from that little first year always sulking in the back of the class to someone he’s proud to call a member of his own house. He talked about how high my grades are, how great I’ve been as a prefect… how impressed he is with me to being doing so well despite my _suboptimal upbringing._ ” His mouth twisted slightly, pulling down at the corner. “Then he extended an invitation to join his club, because it’s apparently clear to him that I am going places, and so he would like to give me all the support that he can.”

Maes nudged at him again and gave him yet another beaming, mischievous grin. “Good for you, then, buddy!”

Roy, grimacing, kept his uncertain eyes down on the desk. The uncertain uneasiness that had been growing in his stomach increased; somehow, the way Maes was only congratulating him and ignoring all the rest of it was making him feel worse. “Is it, though? Your grades are usually just as good as mine. And that’s ignoring fourth year entirely. And we _both_ know he wasn’t exactly thrilled about my becoming a prefect... I’m probably the first Slytherin to get it _without_ being in his club since he founded the damn thing.” Roy paused again, leaning back almost aggressively in his chair to scowl over at the stack of waiting books, still upset about it and not quite able to put a finger on why. “I don’t… I mean- doesn’t it bother you? Slughorn gave you one of these things, only to yank it back when… well.” He coughed darkly. “You know.”

Maes stiffened. A shadow fell across his face, and he went silent.

His best friend, upon making his house Quidditch team as just a second-year, had earned an invitation. Apparently, Slughorn had seen something in him; star athlete, star student, and if he’d just quit pulling so many pranks, a rising star alltogether. 

The next year, Slughorn had pulled back the invitation the first week of classes. He’d said it was because Maes had quit the house team. It hadn’t fooled Maes, and when Roy had finally learned the truth about his best friend’s lycanthropy, it hadn’t fooled him, either.

He’d never quite forgiven Slughorn for that.

Maes sighed, and Roy finally caught a glimpse of that previously infallible smile fading. His friend’s shoulders slumped a little, something unfortunately familiar crossing over his face, familiar and _lonely,_ and when he shrugged again, it was as bittersweet as ever. “So? We always knew it was a bit of a load of shit, who got invites and who didn’t. Be real, Roy, I only got one in the first place because Slughorn likes his pro Quidditch tickets. I was never headed pro anyway.”

“No, you got one because you worked your ass off to make the team and he knew about it. Anyone good enough to teach himself that well in a year has got potential. I got one because Slughorn thinks I’m going to be successful and wants to try and win me over before it’s too late.”

Another elbow nudged him mercilessly in the ribs, Maes pushing back to flip open his own book with an unnecessarily loud thump. “If I can get in on my own merits, then why can’t you? Stop selling yourself short, you moron. Besides, if Professor Slughorn thinks you’re going to be successful, isn’t that merit anyway? Stop nitpicking.”

Roy huffed unhappily. This wasn’t really where he’d pictured the conversation going- not that he’d ever thought it through in the first place- and now that Maes had spun it around into trying to just reassure him about the damn thing, he actually felt far worse about it. He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about this simply didn’t feel right.

Even _with_ Maes sitting there and all but giving his blessing for him to join the group that had turned its back on him.

Something about this just did not sit right with him, and it wasn’t hard to figure what it was.

Roy sighed deeply, something unhappy sinking in his chest, and after several long moments, all he knew was that he just wanted to stop thinking about it at all.

Luckily for him, his best friend wasn’t just good at pep talks- he was _great_ at distracting him. 

“…You know,” he muttered, clearing his throat with a small, sly smirk, “I’m not sure how calling me a moron is supposed to convince me that I’m smart, Maes. That’s a bit counterproductive, actually… not to mention hurtful. I seriously doubt I’ll have the self-esteem to attend the first meeting at all, now.”

This time the elbow was so merciless Roy gasped, doubling over and surely nearly earning a scar to match Maes’, and before he’d even managed to recover from it the paper airplane from before had bopped him right in the nose. “Then don’t go. Weep into your pillow all night long and fail all your exams because you’re so traumatized, Roy, and then drop out of school, and work with your aunt as a barmaid and prove old Sluggy was right about you all along.” That said, he pushed the charms book over to Roy, planting it firmly in front of him, then whipped out his wand again to train it on him, dragging it around in a little circle. “Now, are you going to pass our exam tomorrow, or _not?”_

Roy smirked, because he couldn’t help but smirk, not unless he wanted to burst out laughing in the middle of the damn library, and reached out to swat his wand away with his own book.

* * *

That night, lying there staring up at the dark, deep emerald drapes of his bed, that damn invite letter sat there in the dark of his bedside table to watch him like a giant spider. Something squirmed uncomfortably in his stomach all over again, and he could not get to sleep for a very long time.

* * *

 

From there on after, Roy paced around with the letter of invite stuffed deep into his bag the entire time. He came to no final decision. In fact, all he _did_ accomplish was feeling increasingly queasy about it the more he thought about the damn thing.

Riza, ever pragmatic Riza, told him it was good for him. It was a guaranteed networking circle, something that was all but a requirement for careers in the Ministry, and sure couldn’t hurt for careers anywhere else.

Roy did not want to work in the Ministry.

Havoc, a student who was perpetually average, by Slughorn’s standards, always had been and always would be, told him to piss off from such a snooty club, and that he couldn’t be friends with someone who’d wear their dress robes to a party. 

Roy had gracefully chosen not to comment Havoc had not only worn his dress robes to his aunt’s Christmas party, he’d ended the night with them on fire. 

Professor McGonagall had told him she’d seen many fantastic witches and wizards rise to brilliance from Slughorn’s club- and just as many others rise just as high without it. She’d said his strength was inside of him, not waiting with the elite who had once excluded him (okay, so he’d elaborated on her words a bit in his head), and whatever his choice was, he’d do well. 

Well, it was encouraging. But not exactly helpful.

Scar had blithely commented he didn’t see what all the fuss was about, and gone back to studying. 

And, Maes…

Well, Roy had avoided discussing it with his best friend since that first day, mostly because he doubted Maes would ever tell him where he really stood… probably because he just didn’t want to make Roy feel bad about it. He doubted he’d ever really know where Maes stood on it, which was damn unfortunate, because it was Maes’ opinion that mattered to him the most on it.

Slughorn had turned his back on Roy from the start. But he’d accepted Maes, befriended him, actually gotten to know him as a student and see the worth in him- then pushed him away.

Could it really be right of him to take this opportunity now that he’d finally been offered it? After he’d worked so damn hard and _earned_ it?

He just wished Maes would fucking talk to him about it.

Truthfully?

Part of him, by now, wished Slughorn had never invited him in the first place.

* * *

There were two days between potions classes. Two days that he spent trying to avoid the issue- and, somehow, also avoiding Maes. He stumbled through the Charms exam, doodled through the Transfiguration lesson on animal transformations with a smirk, and tried to turn the other way whenever he so much as saw Slughorn. When it finally came time for class, he purposefully dawdled about to only enter the room at the last minute, shuffling off to the side to bury himself into his cauldron.

The invitation, by now hopelessly crumpled and ruined, was still hidden at the bottom of his bag.

As class progressed, however, it became abundantly clear that Slughorn had not spent these past two days waiting for his answer. 

Slughorn was suddenly singling him out like his other favorites, rewarding his every right turn and helping him past his wrong ones. It was the same fawning he’d uncomfortably noticed earlier in the year but to an even more noticeable degree; to the point, even, that it was embarrassing. 

Roy loved the spotlight, but he didn’t love being thrust into it in front of all of his other classmates and being made to look like an arrogant jackass.

At some point, Slughorn wandered over to his table yet again. He peered once into Havoc’s cauldron, sniffed, shuddered, then immediately moved on to Roy’s, a beaming smile on his face. “Roy! And how’s your progress coming along? Splendidly, as usual?”

Havoc coughed awkwardly, nudging his cauldron a little bit more away from Roy’s. Roy flushed. 

“I’m afraid I made a bit of a wrong turn, sir,” he admitted, jaw tensing. “I stirred the root of mandrake in for a bit too long, and it’s too dilute for it to react properly. I’d need to add a bit more sliver shavings for a catalyst, I think- but you asked that we not use any extra of that ingredient.” It was hardly _his_ fault, he thought inwardly- Slughorn had been talking to him animatedly, enthused, waving his hands about, and Roy had just kept stirring, and- well. He was definitely sure his potion wasn’t supposed to be the color or smell of sour grapes.

Slughorn’s broad smile, however, didn’t even falter. “You’re quite right, my boy! Very good, very _good!_ A good potions master doesn’t just know how to make his potions- he knows how to fix things when they go wrong! Very good! Ten points to Slytherin!” 

Havoc wilted a little more sulkily by his side, frowning into his cauldron. It, unlike Roy’s, was the right color. The consistency was wrong, but it was pretty clear that even if he managed to figure out why, Slughorn wouldn’t notice, and certainly wouldn’t reward it.

Roy’s cheeks warmed uncomfortably again. 

“In fact-“ his professor went on, trying to share a conspiratorial smile with him. “Well, I _did_ say you oughtn’t use any extra silver- but for such a bright student, I think I can make an exception, can’t I? Don’t want this entire lesson to be wasted from a simple mistake!” He winked, bustling away for a moment, then almost immediately returned with the exact ingredient needed. “Here you are, Roy- use it wisely!” 

Havoc coughed again once Slughorn had moved away, nudging his foot none too gently under the lab table. “If you join his stupid club, Roy, I’m gonna kill you.”

His face warmed even more; Roy found himself struck with the momentary urge to just dunk his face into his cauldron and never come out. “Hey, I didn’t _ask_ for this!” he hissed back, then flinched, shuddering when the nearly toxic fumes wafted their way over to him once more. “And for god’s sake, man, you forgot the counterclockwise stir. Get rid of that before it kills us all. Or burns my nose off.”

Havoc glowered at him, muttering something about how potions was a gigantic waste of time anyway and something even quieter about stupid show-offs, and plunged his stirrer into the concoction with a little more force than strictly necessary.

The lesson dragged on for two nearly intolerable hours _after_ that; by its end Roy’s face was almost perpetually warm, and he was pretty sure his potion still wasn’t anywhere near his usual quality- and that in spite of Slughorn’s attempts to prop him up. Havoc was clearly a little surly with him for all the extra attention, even though he’d known Roy obviously wasn’t enjoying it. It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. 

All this attention that he’d craved so _desperately_ as a first year… 

Well, he damn well didn’t want it now. And he damn well didn’t need it. 

But, finally, the lesson clambered to an end. Time was called, materials put away, textbooks shut. Slughorn paced around the room, recording marks for them all as he passed around the room. When he finally reached their table, he glanced into Havoc’s potion, gave him an approving smile, then glanced into Roy’s. His mouth twitched for a moment, but then, it was right back in its approving smile.

“Better luck next time, eh, Roy?” he said warmly, nodding to him, then moved on to the next pair.

Roy frowned, folding his arms unhappily across his chest. Havoc was already turning away, bag over his shoulder, and murmured something about how he’d see him at dinner before he was already pulling back.

Roy kept his eyes on Slughorn, and said nothing. 

The potions master didn’t take long. Roy had entered near the back of the room and, after him and Havoc, there weren’t many pairs left for him to evaluate. The dungeon classroom, full of multicolored and not entirely pleasant fumes, also wasn’t the most popular place for students to hang out; most were clearing out as quickly as Havoc had. Roy continued to take his time, lingering to put away supplies a few others had left out, futzing with his books, just waiting for the inevitable moment…

Finally, the classroom door swung shut with an audible _bang._

Finally, he heard Slughorn’s heavy footsteps start to return- then stop abruptly.

“Oh, Roy! Staying behind to help clean up, are you? Such a good lad. Always setting a good example for your peers.” Slughorn strode along to the front of the room, directing his wand towards the ingredients that had been left out. “Don’t you have a next class you should be running along to, though?”

Roy straightened up, running a nervous, slightly shaky hand through his hair. He still didn’t know quite what he was going to say, he still had no clue what his final choice was to be- but he did know he had to settle this now. He wasn’t going to walk around for the rest of the week and allow it to continue hanging over his head.

“Actually, sir, I was hoping to speak with you in private for a moment.”

Slughorn glanced back around to face him, a twinkle in his eye. “Oh? Well, you know I always have a minute or two for one of my best! What’s on your mind, Roy?”

“Well… it’s- actually about that, sir. Tangentially. I…” he swallowed hard, one hand twitching underneath his desk until he buried it into his robes. “About your invitation, last class. I’ve been thinking about it, and- and when you spoke to me, you said how impressed you were by my academic achievements, Professor. That that was why you were extending the invitation. I suppose I was just confused… I know my record, sir, and there are other students who perform similarly- I was just wondering about your motivations, sir.”

“Oh! Oh, that-“ Slughorn started. His smile broadened, softening into a welcoming sort of expression as he gestured grandly, seemingly trying to put him at ease. “Well, of course that’s not all it is, Roy! Academic achievements are only part of a good student. Really, most anyone’s capable of doing well; you’ve got to take a student’s upbringing into account, you know.” He settled on the edge of his desk, still warm and at genial, still smiling. “Most students who score as highly as you do have support at home, of course- and two magical parents, that’s always important…! It’s always just so impressive to see such dedication and skill from a student who doesn’t have that. It's how I know you've got _real_ potential in you.”

Roy’s jaw tensed.

“My family helps me,” he said flatly, hands abruptly cold as they twitched inside his pockets. “They’ve done all they could to support me since my very first year.”

Slughorn blinked at him, surprise flitting across his face, then waved a hand again and laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, you misunderstand, Roy. You just don’t have the same background as most other purebloods, here- and especially as most other Slytherins! It makes you unique, Roy! Special! And no offense was intended, of course- like I said, I’ve been very impressed by you! I know you’re going places some day, Roy, places far beyond that, er…” He paused for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching. For the first time all conversation, for the first time looking at Roy this whole class period, he frowned instead of beamed. “That _establishment_ that you were raised in.”

Roy tensed again, this time something hot with anger seeping down his spine, and it took more than several moments to master his face into staying even close to calm. 

He’d already known Slughorn’s opinions on Madame Christmas, his sisters, and their bar. He’d also doubted they’d had any reason to change.

Time to move on. To cut through, past the prickly exterior to the even more deadly heart of the matter.

“Well, yes, sir,” he said stiffly, clenching his hands. “As I was saying. I was actually speaking with my friend about this- you’d know him, sir, Maes Hughes, in Hufflepuff? He’s taking your NEWT level class?”

For several moments, again, Slughorn did not reply. From the dimmed enthusiasm in his eyes, though, the way his smile just _dulled_ , Roy knew Slughorn had known from the moment he’d said his best friend’s name.

“Yes, I know the boy,” he said after a long heartbeat, voice just a little bit hesitant.

Roy put on his best, most charming smile, forging on forwards no matter what. “Well, we have quite similar marks, sir- Maes actually does a little better than me, in some areas, and I was a little confused, anyway, actually… wasn’t he in your club before? What happened? Did he decide to leave?”

Slughorn looked intensely uncomfortable now, clearly not liking the way this discussion had gone one bit. His smile was all but gone as he coughed, averting his eyes, then proceeded to fish for words. “That’s… ahem. Mr. Hughes’ situation is… how can I put this… Mr. Hughes’ situation is a bit- delicate, Roy. You are-“ He stopped, his gaze darting around the empty classroom as if to assure there wasn’t any hapless student left behind, awkwardly listening in this whole time. “I believe you’re aware of his affliction?”

“…Yes,” Roy said tightly, tilting his head in a stiff nod. “I am, sir.”

“Well- there you have it, then.” Slughorn winced a little, mouth twitching in what almost looked like distaste. “It’s a shame, of course. Mr. Hughes, as you said, is quite bright. He’s got some skill; an impressive amount, actually, for someone like him. But- but Roy, these meetings, they are meant to be for the students who I look at, and I see your brilliance, and your drive, your potential, and I see you are _going_ somewhere. I see all the amazing things you’re capable of accomplishing and I want to be there to help you do it. Mr. Hughes is…” He sighed, shutting his eyes. “Well, you’re a smart boy, Roy. You know he’s not going to amount to very much. People like him never do.”

Roy clenched his jaw again. “People like him.” 

Slughorn winced, obviously even more uncomfortable now. He looked almost flustered. That frown from before was back full force, now, so much so it was all but a permanent addition to his face.

“…Werewolves, son,” he let out at length, just a hushed whisper, voice low as if he could barely even bring himself to say the word.

There was a dead, cold silence. 

It wasn’t as if Roy hadn’t known where this was headed all along. It wasn’t as if Roy hadn’t known that was the reason, not just for days, for weeks, but for _years._

But still, to hear it said out loud, defined at last, once again sent a jet of sickened, angry rage down his spine, and it took more than several moments for him to calm himself down enough not to lash out back at him.

Slughorn was not the first teacher to speak like this. Far from it- in fact, he was far tamer than most had been. This wan’t Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Professor Grand had suddenly took great pleasure in doing all the lessons on werewolves and fighting werewolves and werewolf attacks that he could- Maes had dropped the class the moment his OWLs had come in. This wasn’t like Care of Magical Creatures, which had kept finding reason in going into great detail on the dangers of werewolves and why they’d all best _keep away_. This wasn’t like a few of their other classes, where Roy was damn sure Maes had to work twice as hard as he did because his grades always ended up lower for even the smallest of mistakes.

Slughorn treated Maes fairly, in and outside of class. He’d only done lessons on werewolves once or twice in the past three years, never on anything that seemed outside the curriculum. He’d never once done anything to draw Roy out of his shell and stand up for Maes like so many others had (fourth year had been brutal in more ways than one).

But if all that was true- 

Why did this all still make him so god damn _mad?_

Roy swallowed tightly, clenching his hands again, and fought back yet another wave of sick anger.

It made him mad, because he knew, on some level, that Slughorn was right.

Roy had worked hard. He had worked as hard as he could and then some, clawing his way up the social and academic ladders, fighting past his horrendous first year to land himself somewhere that he was proud of. Despite what he’d said to Maes two days ago- well, he _had_ earned this. He’d earned his grades, he’d earned his prefect badge, and he’d earned his favor among the professors. He wasn’t like the Armstrongs, the Malfoys, the Blacks. He was a _Mustang._  He’d had to work for every last bit of what he had, and he was proud of it.

But Maes was working just as hard as he was. Some days, even harder. Maes was just as smart as he was, he could fly circles around half the school, and the only reason he wasn’t a prefect was because he had an incurable prankster streak and almost seemed to love getting in trouble. Maes had every bit of potential he did. Hell- Maes had _more_ potential than he did, Roy believed, or at least he’d earned it- Maes had somehow managed to keep his grades up through his harrowing transformations, the illnesses, the frequent hospital visits. Roy, on the other hand, had poured so much of himself into learning his animagus promise his fourth year he’d nearly failed his other classes, and was _still_ only barely clawing his way through Charms with Hughes’ help; lacking the fundamentals from that year had been more of a brutal blow than he’d expected. 

Slughorn would turn a blind eye to his wild grades. He wouldn’t turn one to something that wasn’t even Maes’ fault in the first place.

And that, he supposed, was the heart of the matter.

Maes had earned every bit of respect that Roy had. He’d put in all the work. He’d done all the right things. He’d _been_ all the right things; he was flat out a better person than he was, and Roy didn’t care who tried to say differently. He’d earned and deserved it all.

And none of that mattered, because he wasn’t going to get it.

Not from Slughorn. Not from Grand. Not from Kimblee. 

Not from the _world,_ and that had to at least be part of what Slughorn was saying.

There was very little that Maes could amount to, because their world would take one look at him and stamp reject. Slughorn’s little elite club wasn’t for people who were smart, or charming, or skilled, or all of the above- it was for people with _potential._

Their world didn’t allow for werewolves to have potential.

Slughorn watched him still, smile faded a little now and clearly aware that Roy was not happy with the way this discussion had gone. It took him a bit, but at last, he smiled to him again, a little warmer and more genuine than before, and he pushed off his desk to start to approach him. “I can see this bothers you. Good friend, Roy, you’re a good friend. We could use more Slytherins like you… tell you what. If it’ll mean that much to you, I’ll tell Mr. Hughes he’s in the next time I see him. I’ll let him join in, just for you. Only stipulation is that you’ve got to come along with him!”

Roy, in the midst of just trying to control himself and stand there stock still, holding back the rage from crossing his face- blinked. He deflated a little, the righteous anger sinking out from under him, and felt almost gobsmacked. 

“…What?”

“Of course!” Slughorn announced grandly, beaming as if he had just done Roy a great favor. “As you said, Mr. Hughes _is_ bright, his grades are quite good- and his father really is so prominent in his field, really must get back in contact with him… anyway, if that’s what you’re asking me for- well, I’d be happy to oblige.” He smiled warmly, reaching out to clap Roy on the shoulder. “You tell your friend he’s got a seat at the table, Roy. The table of the best and brightest,” he promised, eyes bright and voice cheerful and smile conspiratorial, like they’d just struck the most fantastic bargain of Roy’s young life, and held his hand out for him to shake. 

Roy, somehow even more sick at heart than before, took several seconds to bring himself out of it enough to take his hand.

* * *

That night, Roy snuck back into Maes’ dorm, whipping the curtains back around his bed with a sound-muffling charm, and settled in to wait.

When his best friend finally stumbled in, obstinately past curfew as usual, thumping about as noisily as he always did, he at least had the grace not to look surprised when he found the closed curtains waiting for him. He heard Maes exchange a few words with his roommates, laughing about something ridiculous or another, but when he finally slipped inside, it was to give Roy’s foot a poke with his wand, and smirk.

Roy sighed, glaring at the pages. Why did he ever fucking bother…

“I wondered where you’d gotten off to,” Maes said quietly, voice hushed even though his roommates shouldn’t have been able to hear them. “Didn’t see you at dinner. Did wittle Woy get lonely…?”

Roy scowled dangerously, another seed of annoyance worming itself around in his stomach. “Fuck you. Wasn’t hungry.” He hesitated, still scowling, and scowled even more when Maes’ bed shifted as his best friend sat down, continuing to poke at his foot with his wand. “…I talked to Professor Slughorn.”

“Okay. Good for you.” Maes continued poking until Roy’s skin crawled, the sensitive skin on the bottom with his foot transforming this whole damn awkward thing into a battle not to burst out laughing. Fuck it, he _hated_ Hughes. “So, are you going to get off my bed, or…?”

Roy flinched again, almost to the point where he wanted to step on the damn wand, fighting to stop himself from jerking away. “Quit it,” he muttered, trying to kick him away without letting on how ticklish the damn thing was. “Stop that- fuck- damn you, Hughes, I-“ Well, he’d wanted to segue into this more gently, but since Maes clearly wasn’t interested in letting him do that, then- “I got you a dammed invitation to the Slug Club, Hughes!”

That, finally, was enough to earn him his peace.

His best friend stopped, his eyes widening behind his glasses. The pressure on the bottom of his foot vanished in the blink of an eye, and suddenly, Maes’ bright-eyed amusement, the almost laughter on his face, fizzled away just like that, and suddenly, Roy found himself left with the very unusual sight of a shellshocked and silent Maes Hughes. 

“I… oh.” Hesitantly, Maes lowered himself to sit a little more, blinking, clearly unsure. “That’s- well… um… thanks?” He scratched at the back of his head. “I didn’t know that was even on the table, actually.”

Roy grimaced. “Yeah, well, I didn’t, either.” Curling up a little more, trying to make some more room for Maes, Roy turned onto his side, glaring stubbornly at the dusty amber curtains, trying to make sense of that persistent feeling of unease that had lingered since he’d left class. “I brought you up, I suppose, but I wasn’t trying to accomplish anything with it… honestly, I was just being difficult. I was trying to get him to outright say it, you know? That _that’s_ the only reason why he doesn’t like you. Then he suddenly came out with this.” He paused, scowling again. “Took me off guard.” 

Roy huffed darkly then, burying his face into the crook of his elbow while Maes just sat there silently, seeming unsure of what to say. Figured. One single, borderline accidental conversation with their professor, on Roy’s part, had been more effective than years of work on Hughes’ part. Although he supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised; it had taken years of work on Roy’s part to get Slughorn to even consider _him…_

He sighed again.

This whole damn thing just left a bad taste in his mouth.

After several moments, Roy glanced over at his suddenly withdrawn and abnormally silent friend. “You’re only invited because you’re meant to bring me along. Fair warning.”

Maes’ mouth twitched a little, irritation quivering along the corner of his lips. “I figured.”

It went uncomfortably quiet again. Maes’ scarred hands fisted gently in the Hufflepuff-themed blankets, the head of a badger suddenly twisted and mauled, scratched with fingernails, and a shadow of sour annoyance darkened his eyes.

Roy cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice light. “You don’t look like you plan on going.”

“Well- no. Can you blame me, Roy?” Maes snorted and dropped, flipping over onto his back to smirk up at the ceiling.”You think I’d have fun at a fancy dinner party where I’ve gotta pretend I give a damn about the salad fork, or where I can’t hex milk up Havoc’s nose, or that I’m actually interested in listening to Lucius drone on about the number of house elves his family has now?” He snorted again, rolling his eyes. “Please.”

At that, Roy finally had to laugh a little himself, the first true smile coming to his face in the whole day. “Lucius Malfoy is a prat, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of class…”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve got a stick up your ass the size of the astronomy tower.”

Roy nearly choked, something light and nearly panicked catching in his throat and he flipped over onto his stomach just in time, muffling his startled laugh- and wince- into the bed. God _damn_ it. He trembled and laughed, breathing hard into the blankets, fully aware of the proud smirk on Maes’ face even if all he could see right now was a face full of fluff. One of Maes’ hands patted hard on his back, patting him with more than a hint of teasing as Roy just shook his head, earlier anger twisted entirely now into very reluctant amusement. 

For several long moments, it was just that, and Roy felt the best that he had since Slughorn had even brought up this whole matter two days ago.

Even when the moment passed, and he’d managed to stop shuddering into the bed, he still found himself battling with a small smile. 

Only then, however, did Maes go on, and the hand still resting on his back suddenly seemed less about teasing him, and more about just prolonging contact. 

“I’m not going,” he said steadily. “Thanks for the invitation, buddy, but I’m not interested. Professor Slughorn wouldn’t network for me, and that’s the whole supposed benefit of his club, isn’t it? Even if he did, I doubt it’d make much difference. Anyway, I’m not too interested in crashing a party the host doesn’t even want me at.”

Something in Roy’s stomach twisted unhappily.

It wasn’t Maes’ refusal of the invitation, really. That, he’d been expecting. The Slug Club wasn’t exactly Maes’ speed, and he doubted Maes would’ve _ever_ enjoyed any of the meetings, even if he’d truly, genuinely, been wanted there.

It was more just the resignation of it all. 

The way he knew without Roy even having to say that he wasn’t welcome there, not really, the way he already knew it was an invitation in name only because even if Slughorn cared to try, there was next to nothing he could do for him.

The refusal of the invitation was expected and deserved- but the easy resignation in his voice that arrived like someone who wasn’t even defeated- who was _always_ in defeat- was not what Roy had wanted to hear.

He frowned into the blankets, the righteous anger that had been tempering his words until now cooling into a sadness instead.

“…I don’t think I’ll go, either.”

That, however, woke Maes right up.

“You- you _what?!_ Roy! No!” The hand on the back of his robes suddenly tugged, spinning him over onto his side to abruptly have him face-up, wand back to prod and poke at his side. “You want to become a professor! That doesn’t just _happen,_ Roy, you need connections to get that job, you need-“

“You want to become a professor, too! That’s _your_ dream job, and you just turned down the stupid invite!”

“Yeah, well- well… _you_ can be my connection. Whatever! Point is, Roy, don’t be such an idiot. What, do you need my blessing or something? Take it, buddy, I don’t care, join the snootiest club in school, go kill three hours every couple weeks listening to Lucius prattle on about how much of a dickwad he is- just take the invitation! It’s good for you, for your career!” Maes shoved him harder into the bed, as if eating a pillow would somehow manage to convince him when words would not. “You’re going, even if I gotta drag you down to his office!” 

Roy shrugged with as much disinterest as he could muster. “We don’t need him. Professor McGonagall loves us. I’m pretty sure Flitwick’s on the same cycle as you; he gets this weird put out look every full moon when he knows you won’t be in class…”

Maes shoved at him a third time, this time with even more force than before. “It’s not just one or two professors you need to like you, Roy. There’s Professor Hohenheim, there’s the board of governors, there’s- shit, Roy, you _know_ how hard it is! Really, I appreciate the gesture, but there’s a time and place for your principles, don’t you think?”

“You said that last year when Grand gave me detention.” 

“You stood up in the middle of class and told him his lesson was full of shit!” 

“It was on werewolves and how _dangerous_ they are, _Maes,_ I couldn’t just-“

“Yeah, I know what it was on, I was _there,_ and just like now, I appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t worth a month of detention, just like this isn’t worth your career, Roy.”

Roy scowled again, swatting Maes’ hands away and continuing to glare away. “Worst case scenario we’ll both end up as my aunt’s barmaids, then. We’ll wear matching dresses.” He pulled his arm away from his best friend’s tugging to frown across the room, folding his arms in annoyance. 

He wasn’t stupid. He knew this club invitation, while not a guarantee to a professorship, was a damn strong step up. He knew there wasn’t a solid reason not to take it, either. He didn’t have to sell out his principles and kick Maes to the curb. He wouldn’t have to magically start tolerating it when others did it either, or the comments about his family. He wouldn’t have to turn into Lucius Malfoy. His best friend would still be a werewolf, and fuck anyone who had anything to say about that, but Roy could reap the benefits of the damn club just like Slughorn wanted to reap the benefits of having him as a student- then turn around and use his connections and prestige to help Maes. It was not a betrayal. Maes was sitting right here, saying he understood, and it plainly wasn’t a lie- Maes _understood_ why it was important, why he was supposed to do it, and would never hold it against him and even supported his decision. 

And he still didn’t want to do it. 

That was the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? That was why he’d been so resistant and uneasy and uncomfortable and _unhappy_ these past two days- because he knew he was supposed to join the club but just did not want to. It wasn’t because he was worried about what Maes would think, or how he’d feel about it; he’d known all along Maes would understand and support it- it was because he didn’t want to.

That club, and Slughorn’s support, could’ve saved his life his first year. It would’ve meant _everything_ to him, everything Hughes had ended up being, and Slughorn had turned his back on him just like he’d turned his back on Hughes. Because his family wasn’t _good enough._ And why had Slughorn invited him now? _In spite_ of his family. Because Roy had made himself acceptable enough, presentable enough, and for a boy from such an _undesirable_ stock Slughorn hadn’t expected anything at all. 

Slughorn hadn’t wanted a damn thing to do with him when he’d needed help, but now that he saw something in Roy, and realized Roy could some day help him- suddenly, he was interested.

Hughes was that undesirable stock, too, now. As much as he hated it or wanted to pretend otherwise, that prejudice was a fact of wizarding society, and Roy would never defeat it. 

His family and his best friend would always be outcasts of his world, and that prejudice, and this choice- this choice between the easy road that only he could take, or a slightly harder one, but with the people who deserved to never be left behind by his side… this choice was never going away. He’d chosen his path, and this choice was going to be his for the rest of his life.

He knew it wouldn’t bother Maes. Maybe that wasn’t the point.

It bothered _him._

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said at last. He straightened his shoulders, settling on the bed, and looked Maes right in the eye. “I don’t want to join the damn club, for me, _I_ don’t want to. He thinks he can buy me with you, he doesn’t even care what _you’re_ capable of, and I wouldn’t be allowed to even say where I’m from. He doesn’t want me at all; he wants a future Auror or Professor or whatever the hell he imagines I’ll be and that’s it. I don’t want anything to do with something like that. And I-" He let out a frustrated sigh, jerking his fingers through his dropping, tired hair. "Look, I know there’ll be some things I have to do in the future for my career, Maes. I know that. There’ll be some comments I’ll have to let pass, some things I’ll have to look the other way on… but I don’t want to start that now, Maes. I don’t like it, and I don’t want- I… I _won’t_ to do that any more than absolutely necessary.” 

Maes blinked at him. His eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, saying nothing. 

For several seconds, that was all it was, just an awkward silence. He seemed surprised, and not necessarily in a good way, eyes wide and startled. For a brief moment, Roy actually worried that he _wasn’t_ happy with this. That he’d supported Roy’s invite to the club, but _wouldn’t_ support him turning it down- because it was short-sighed and selfish, wasn't it? Maybe it wouldn't help much now, but it _would_ help Roy get into a position of power, and from there, he could help Maes- he'd be one of the only ones who'd even try to, so by turning this down, wasn't he hurting Maes as well...? It was uncomfortable and awkward and Roy shifted, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Then, Maes tackled him in a rough hug so tight it knocked the breath of him, and Roy almost knocked himself senseless on the headboard. 

“You’re such a goddamn _Hufflepuff!”_ Maes cried, ruffling his hair like he was trying to tame a wild dog, and Roy’s face chose that moment to flush so brightly it felt as if he’d been set on fire. “I swear to god, Roy, we might as well stuff you in a badger suit and call you the mascot! You stupid, wonderful _moron!”_

“I- _hey! Hughes!”_

But Maes was too busy hugging the life out of him to mind his protests. It took three attempts at squirming and a fourth knee to the stomach to get him to loosen his hold at all, his best friend still beaming like a lunatic. “ _Hughes,_ ” he snarled again, trying to wriggle free, but this time there was no escaping and he flushed even hotter. “I am not a _Hufflepuff._ I’m still an ambitious son of a bitch, and, more to the point, wouldn’t be caught dead in, er, _this,”_ he said, plucking at Maes’ bright bumblebee yellow and black scarf with a pronounced shudder. “All I said was I didn’t want to join the elite club of elite assholes. Maybe I just don’t want my successes tied to them? What would _you_ know, Hughes? You- gah, let me _go_ already!”

“Yeah, moron,” Maes laughed smugly. “I heard what you _said.”_ He ruffled Roy’s hair again, then flipped his scarf around so it was draped over his shoulders as well, like the scarf was hugging him too. “You’re a Slytherin at heart, I get it- but there’s some loving loyalty buried deep in all that ambition. Just gotta dig to find it.” He leaned into Roy heavily, the feel of his scars rough against Roy’s hand, and for a moment that was all there was, just Maes’ smug smiles and laughter.

Then:

“Thanks, Roy,” he said quietly, and his smile then was anything but teasing 

Roy scowled, flushing even hotter, and looked away. “Just get your dumb scarf off of me,” he muttered, trying not to look at him, and tugged at the eyesore to flip it back around Maes’ face. 


End file.
